


when love is pain it can devour you

by ThatgirlnamedEleanor



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Blood and Gore, Choking, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Murder Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, inspired by all the times ed touches holden (and holden seems into it), or at least pressing down on an artery for sexual purposes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 03:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19862890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatgirlnamedEleanor/pseuds/ThatgirlnamedEleanor
Summary: Nobody needs to know.





	when love is pain it can devour you

**Author's Note:**

> I really wasn't going to post this but the promo pictures for S2 plunged me straight back into Mindhunter hell. I regret nothing; title is from Led Zeppelin's In The Light.

The slick silkiness of the tie encircling his wrists, restrained behind the back of the chair, is terrifying. He’s also the most aroused he’s ever been.

Bondage was never part of Ed’s signature, Holden knows that. Power, control, yes, but the control was never made literal like this. He wonders whether Ed would have thought of it if he hadn’t asked. If he, Holden, hadn’t brought the tie to him like a dog bringing a leash, pathetic and pathetically hopeful. Somehow, the image of himself begging like that makes his arousal spike, his cock twitch, and he swallows, hard. Ed smiles, so so far above him, his eyes still empty, and Holden wonders- not for the first time in Ed’s presence- if he’s about to die.

“Would you like to begin?” Ed asks. 

Holden almost wants to laugh, the illusion that he has any real say in the matter so paper-thin as to be obsolete. “Yes.” he says, and swallows again. “Would you mind switching on the recorder?”

Ed chuckles as he leans over and does so. The moment it starts to whir, Holden’s heart begins to race. This was a stupid idea, and doing it whilst recording was even more so.

But fuck, if it doesn’t turn him on.

“Are you comfortable, Holden?” Ed says, and it’s the first thing anyone listening to this tape will hear, an immediate indication as to who’s in charge.

Holden begins to nod, before realising that that obviously won’t be picked up. “Yes. Yes, absolutely.”

“I do appreciate you still coming to see me.” As Ed speaks, he moves behind Holden and pulls at the tie, testing the strength of his own knots. They’re sturdy. It’s only then that Holden truly recognises how completely at Ed’s mercy he is, and he’s enthralled.

“Well, I- I like coming to see you.” Holden realises a second too late that that’s a bit  _ much _ , and hurries to correct himself: “You continue to provide us with valuable insight.” 

“Huh. Well, I’m glad I can be of help. I don’t get to do anything constructive around here, generally speaking.” Ed’s suddenly standing in front of him again, looming as always and, from Holden’s position as he looks up at him from the chair he’s tied to, even more imposing than usual. He reaches out and undoes the first few buttons of Holden’s shirt, dragging a single fingertip down to his chest and then slowly upwards, over the exposed vulnerability of his throat. Holden shivers.

“Do you not feel, uh, useful here?” Holden asks, knowing the question is pointless but just focusing instead on not allowing his voice to waver as Ed’s fingers leave his throat for now and work their way downwards, undoing more and more buttons, exposing more of his skin to the open air. Holden can’t afford to forget their invisible audience.

Ed chuckles softly. “What use could I be to anyone?” he asks, trailing his fingers upwards to slowly circle Holden’s nipple. Even just the thought that he might touch it is so arousing that Holden reflexively arches his back, shifting in his seat and pulling against the tie, and he’s in luck: for a brief second, Ed squeezes the sensitive flesh roughly, and it’s all Holden can do to not cry out, biting his lip so hard he can taste blood. Then Ed’s fingertips are moving upwards once more, and he finally continues speaking: “I was thinking about taking up a hobby of some sort, you know, to keep my hands busy-” He pauses to flash Holden a smile, and Holden smiles back despite himself, “-but they won’t let me have anything anymore.” He drags his fingertips over Holden’s throat again, and no doubt feels him swallow. “Not after what happened.”

“What would you want to have, if you were allowed anything?” Fuck, Holden’s not even sure if that’s grammatically correct, but he’s well past caring.

Ed thinks for a moment as he traces a path from one of Holden’s ears to the other, touching him right under the base of his skull, skirting straight over the places where his arteries are closest to the skin. “A knife.” he says, thoughtfully. 

There’s a pause that will no doubt sound awkward on tape as Ed presses his fingers against Holden’s carotid, hard, and Holden closes his eyes and feels his blood flow being sickeningly cut off and tries (and fails) not to imagine a knife running over his skin- the slight scratching, then the bright, clean pain. He almost comes, then.

Then Ed relents and Holden forces himself to breathe. He waits until he can feel the blood rushing back into his brain and then and says, shakily, dizzily: “What- what would you do with a knife, if you had one?” He glances over at the tape recorder and then back up at Ed, making eye contact, hoping to remind him of who’s listening. Ed looks over too, briefly, and steps back. The sudden lack of contact makes Holden wince, and he automatically leans forwards, pulling against the tie once more and enjoying the feeling of confinement.

“I thought about whittling, perhaps. You know, carving things out of wood.” Ed says, and Holden’s impressed that he managed to come up with something even vaguely plausible. And, even now, he sees an opportunity for more insight.

“Does that appeal to you because it lets you have complete control over what you’re making?”

For a moment, Ed simply studies him, empty eyes looking him up and down, and Holden tries not to think how he must look, with his chest exposed and his breathing visibly heavy and his erection barely disguised by his tight trousers. And then, Ed steps forwards and begins running a finger up his inner thigh, slow and deliberate and torturous. Holden shudders and spreads his legs instinctively, finally making a noise he can’t suppress and barely even caring that this tape is now a definite waste because _holy_ _shit_ Ed’s getting closer and closer to his cock and he can feel the tie burning the delicate skin of his wrists as he pulls against it, trying to get Ed’s hand to go higher. Briefly, inevitably, he thinks about what that hand has done, the lives those fingers have choked away. After all, he did strangle some of them. Holden tries not to feel too bad about the fact that that idea makes him even more aroused.

Two things happen at once- Ed’s huge hand covers Holden’s cock, and he asks him, politely, pleasantly: “Open your mouth.”

It’s a command, not a request, and Holden complies. He knows what’s coming before Ed even removes his hand and begins undoing his own pants, his chains rattling as he does so, because how could he not? At least it’s not his neck, yet.

Ed fucks his mouth roughly, painfully, barely giving him a chance to breathe, and he loves it. Holden’s heart hammers in his chest as Ed clutches his head in both hands like it’s nothing more than an object for him to violate, to push deeper and deeper into until it feels like Holden’s jaw will break and his facial muscles will rip and blood will spill all over Ed’s legs and soak into his prison uniform in a red climax. He’s heard that the French call orgasms ‘little deaths’, and how right they are. The image of it is all Holden can think about, bringing him dangerously close to the edge as his jaw and facial muscles and tongue ache dully, gorgeously, and he wonders if, in Ed’s mind, his head is a similarly destroyed mess or a neatly severed sex toy, and whether it even matters. They’re both getting off to Holden’s annihilation, after all.

If this is meant as a humiliation, it certainly doesn’t feel like one when Ed finally comes with a low growl and floods his mouth, Holden dutifully swallowing and feeling unusually pleased with himself. He looks up at Ed, and finds him with his eyes closed, face raised upwards to the heavens like a man who’s just had a religious experience. “Am I that good?” Holden asks, and he sounds rough.

Ed’s eyes flutter open. “Don’t brag,” he says, his voice undeniably shaky. “It’s unbecoming.” Then he’s reaching down, looming over him, and finally and roughly taking Holden’s erection in his hand. Holden comes with an embarrassingly high pitched whine after only a few clumsy, unskilled strokes.

Afterwards, Ed lets him free, affording him the opportunity to get away that none of his victims were given, handing him the tie when he’s done. “You will come back?” He asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question.

“Of course.” Holden says, and he means it. “If- if I did manage to sneak in a knife…”

Ed smiles, shrugging. “Anything you want. Just as long as you keep coming back.”

Holden doesn’t like to be in control, but he does like knowing that Ed’s just as desperate as he is for the time they spend together in this room. He’ll come back soon, and Ed will fuck him at knifepoint, Holden bent over the table and the knife at his throat, noises escaping him every time the cutting edge presses into his skin and begins to draw blood, creating tiny wounds he’ll have to hide; bloodstains on his collar. He’ll bring another tape, and pretend to lose it afterwards, and listen to it in his empty apartment as he jerks off. They both know it’s going to happen. It was always going to, from the moment Ed first put his fingers on Holden’s throat.

He wonders what a psychology professor would say about the two of them, about the inevitability of it all. And then he smiles at Ed and walks out of the room and back into the real world, repressing those thoughts and his feelings, pushing them down into the far corners of his mind where the rest of his darkness lives.

Nobody needs to know. And if nobody knows, who’s to say it ever really happened?


End file.
